


burn the ice and call me dirty

by squadrickchestopher



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bartender Bucky Barnes, Bartenders, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Oral Sex, POV Clint Barton, Praise Kink Clint, Soft Dom Bucky Barnes, Tattooed Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24755542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher
Summary: “I’ve got talented hands,” James says, dropping his voice lower. “If you’re up for it, I could give you a more...personal demonstration.”It’s a cheesy line, all things considered, but it goes right through Clint like a lightning strike, lighting up his nervous system in all the best ways. “Uh...”“If you want,” James adds. “It’s up to you.”“I want,” Clint says, probably too fast to be as smooth as he was hoping for. “Definitely.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 40
Kudos: 331
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020





	burn the ice and call me dirty

**Author's Note:**

> beta'ed by the super lovely [clintscoffeepot](https://clintscoffeepot.tumblr.com/) who is an all around awesome human. Thank you!

“What are you scowling about?”

Clint jumps a little. “What? Nothing.” Nat raises an eyebrow at him, and he shakes his head. “It’s nothing, okay?”

“Uh-huh.” She sips her drink, an innocent expression perfectly crafted on her face. “If you like James so much, why don’t you ask him out?”

“Shut up,” Clint says, his face flaring with heat.

“I’m just saying. If you don’t, I think that other guy is going to.”

Clint looks over her shoulder. There’s a blond guy sitting at the bar with a sketchbook, wearing a too-tight shirt and an all-American smile. As Clint watches, the guy leans forward and murmurs something to James, which makes them both laugh.

“Goddammit,” Clint mutters, looking back down at his drink.

Natasha laughs. “You’re such a coward. I love you, but you’re a coward.”

“I’m not going to ask him out, Nat. I’ve spoken to him all of twelve times, and all twelve conversations have consisted of me ordering drinks. That’s not exactly a basis for asking someone on a date.” He runs his finger around the rim of his glass, collecting condensation. “The hell am I supposed to say, anyway?”

“Tell him you think he’s cute, and you want to get to know him more.”

“What do you think this is, a Hallmark movie?”

She smirks. “You tell me. You’re the one pining from afar.”

“Why are you so mean to me?” He flicks water droplets at her face. “Did I hurt you in a past life or something?”

“Because it’s fun to watch you squirm.” She pushes her glass at him. “Go get me another.”

“Go yourself, you’ve got legs.”

“You go, and I’ll buy.”

Clint considers for a moment, then gets up. “What do you want?”

“I don’t care. Something strong. If I have to sit here and watch you moon over him, I need to be drunker than I currently am.”

“I hate you,” Clint says. He takes the money she hands him and sidles over to the bar, trying to look cool and relaxed and sexy all in one go. He probably doesn’t manage it.

James smiles at him anyway. “Hey, Clint. What can I get for you?”

_You can get in my bed, with all of those tattoos on full display, preferably yelling my name while I—_

Clint clears his throat and makes himself focus. “Uh. Alcohol?”

The blond guy snorts, and James punches his arm. “Be nice, Steve.” He turns back to Clint. “Got anything specific in mind?”

“My friend wants something strong,” Clint says, wondering if it’s possible for him to sink into the floor and hide forever. “And I don’t care what I drink, so I’m going to leave it up to your creativity.” He slides the bill across the counter. “I trust you.”

“I’m flattered,” James says, taking the money with a smile. “Sit tight, then. I’ll be right with you.”

“Okay,” Clint says.

Watching James bartend is like watching a work of art being made. He’s a genius when it comes to drinks, creating amazing combinations with insane ease. And he puts on a show, too, which is what had drawn in Clint in the first place. He’d been walking past with Natasha one night and had happened to glance in the window just as James flipped the shaker, poured a drink, and slid it down the bar with a smile.

And okay, yeah, it had been the smile more than anything that got him, but James does make the whole process look both fun and sexy as hell. So Clint sits himself on a barstool, props his chin on his hand, and settles in to watch the magic.

Steve leans over. “He’s showing off,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Am not,” James shoots back, tossing the shaker to his other hand. “I’m doing my job. This is how you get tips.” He winks at Clint and flips a napkin off his hand, which lands perfectly on the bar in front of him. Then he sets down a glass and pours. “Here. For your friend.”

“What is it?”

“Like a Long Island, but stronger. More fruity.”

Clint tries some. “Holy shit, that’s amazing.” He wraps his fingers around the glass possessively. “I want this. She can have a different one.”

James laughs. “And that’s why I made enough for two.” He pours a second glass, then pushes it across the bar. “Take it to your friend, and then come back, okay?”

“Why?” He starts to get up.

“Because you’re cute,” James says easily, “and trying to check you out from across the bar is distracting me. I’d rather have you up close where I can see you properly.”

Clint stumbles over his own feet at that, managing to catch himself on the barstool just in time to avoid smacking his face on the counter. Blushing, he straightens up and grabs one of the glasses. “Be right back,” he says, and hurries away before he can say something stupid.

“Bucky,” he hears Steve say mildly. “Don’t embarrass the poor guy.”

“What? I’m just being honest,” James retorts.

Clint thumps the glass down in front of Natasha, who looks up at him. “You alright?”

“I’m going to sit at the bar,” he says. “I love you very much.”

“Oh? What changed from two minutes ago?”

Clint thumbs over his shoulder. “He thinks I’m cute.”

Natasha grins at him. “Ha. I knew it.”

“Don’t be smug. I’ll get myself home, okay?”

“Do I need to give you a safe sex talk?”

He rolls his eyes and kisses her cheek. “Never mind. I hate you again.”

“Of course,” she says, and sips her drink. “Text me when you get home.”

“You too.”

He hightails it back to the bar, nearly knocking the stool over in his haste to sit down. James is serving another customer down at the end, but he looks up at the sound. Their eyes meet, and for a moment, Clint can almost taste the tension between them. _Oh, Clint, you are so in over your head._

Steve leans over. “I’m Steve,” he says, offering a hand.

“Clint.” He shakes it. “How do you know James?”

“We’ve been friends for years.” He taps the sketchbook. “I’m in art school. We’re supposed to be working on perspective, so I’m practicing.” He flips the book around to display the sketch.

Clint leans over to look at it. “Wow. That’s really good.” He doesn’t know shit about art, but he at least can recognize talent when he sees it. It’s certainly better than anything he could do.

“I try.”

James comes back over. “Stop flirting with him,” he says to Steve. “That’s my job.”

Clint has no idea what to say to that. He’s not used to his crushes reciprocating, and definitely not used to said crush being so...forward about it. He blushes again and sips his drink, letting the alcohol ease his inhibitions. James wasn’t lying about the drink being strong. He’s only halfway through it and it’s already going to his head.

“You were busy,” Steve says easily. “I thought I’d take over for a moment.”

James flicks a lemon wedge at him. “Uh-huh.” He looks at the sketch. “The fuck is that supposed to be, the bar? I thought you were in art school, not preschool.”

Steve flicks it back. “Says the bastard who can’t even draw a stick figure.”

“That’s because I have useful talents, jackass.” James pours a line of rainbow shots and passes them to the gaggle of shrieking girls down the way. “Don’t let him fool you, Clint. He’s useless. I only keep him around to help pay the rent.”

Steve closes his sketchbook. “I don’t have to put up with this shit,” he says, dropping some money on the bar. “I’m going to go home and finish the rest of your takeout.”

“Do that, and I’ll murder you in your sleep.” James picks up the bills. “You okay to drive?”

“I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gets up, then gestures towards Clint. “Feel free to bring him home; I already like him more than you.”

“Bitch.”

“Punk.”

Steve disappears out the door, and Clint stares after him, not entirely sure what he just witnessed. James laughs at his expression. “We’ve been friends since birth,” he says. “He’s like a brother to me. Grew up in Brooklyn together, and now we’re roommates. We’re always like that.”

Clint nods. “Nat and I do the same thing,” he says. “People always think we’re together.”

“Same. We’re not, though, if that’s what you were thinking. I mean, I do have a thing for pretty blond boys, but definitely not him.” He moves to the other side of the bar and takes an order. Clint watches as he takes money and cards and mixes drinks without missing a beat. The bar itself has a lot of charm, but James is clearly the center of it, drawing people in with nothing more than a smile and a few easy words. There’s an _intensity_ to him, a presence that Clint has never seen from anyone else. It’s mesmerizing.

“So you think I’m pretty?” Clint asks when he comes back. It’s not a word he’d ever used to describe himself, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the way it sounds coming from James.

“Of course,” James says. “Have since the first time I saw you.”

The admission is so open, so _honest_ , that Clint has a hard time breathing for a moment. This is all so different than what he’s used to. Not that he doesn’t know how to flirt or anything, but it’s never like this. He’s not really sure how to handle the way James is looking at him.

So like the moron he is, he just says, “Okay,” and takes another drink, trying to ignore the way both his pants and his chest suddenly feel a little tighter.

James looks like he wants to say something else, but then someone calls his name from across the bar. “Be right back.”

Clint watches him go, watches the way the world warps around him as he moves across the bar. Lets his eyes drift down to the curve of those too-tight jeans, and the way his grey t-shirt rides up a little when he bends over, revealing the hint of yet another tattoo.

“Christ,” Clint mutters, rubbing his forehead. Between being semi-drunk and very turned on, he’s going to be sitting at this bar for a _long_ time.

James comes back over a few minutes later. “Sorry about that,” he says, leaning against the bar. “Busy night.”

Clint waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I like watching you.”

“You do, huh?” There’s a whole _world_ of unsaid things in those words, and the look in James’s eyes sends a jolt down Clint’s spine.

“Yeah. The whole shaker tossing, glass flipping, liquor pouring thing is very cool.”

“I’ve got talented hands,” James says, dropping his voice lower. “If you’re up for it, I could give you a more...personal demonstration.”

It’s a cheesy line, all things considered, but it goes right through Clint like a lightning strike, lighting up his nervous system in all the best ways. “Uh...”

“If you want,” James adds. “It’s up to you.”

“I want,” Clint says, probably too fast to be as smooth as he was hoping for. “Definitely.”

James smiles at him, a slow, almost predatory thing that makes Clint shiver in anticipation. “Good,” he says softly. “Well, then. You’ve got two options.”

“I’m listening.”

“Option one,” James says as he pulls a beer and slides it over to a customer. “I’m off in two hours. You can wait for me, or we can meet up afterwards. We go have a coffee, maybe walk around a little bit, and then we go back to my place and see how loud we have to get before Steve won’t look us in the eye tomorrow.”

Clint snorts. “Tempting. What’s option two?”

“You meet me downstairs in about two minutes, and we see if we can keep you quiet instead.” James thinks for a moment, then says, “Okay, that sounded way better in my head.”

“It did have a serial killer kind of flavor to it,” Clint agrees, biting his lip at the flash of desire that goes through him anyway.

“That wasn’t the intent.” James steps away for a moment to listen to a girl, then reaches for a bottle of tequila. He talks with her, voices low, but keeps his eyes on Clint the whole time. As soon as she leaves, he comes back over. “Let’s try that again. Option two, you meet me downstairs in two minutes, and I—” He stops, shakes his head, and then he’s the one blushing. “Yeah, this is not coming out right at all.”

“I got the idea,” Clint assures him, suddenly feeling a little more at ease. Not that he doesn’t like the very confident, very forward version of James, but the stumbling over words and rephrasing is...well, it’s nice. Makes him a little more real, in a way. “I’ll take option two.”

“Good choice,” James says, lowering his voice again, which does very nice things to Clint’s spine. He reaches into his pocket, then slides a small brass key across the bar top.

Clint picks it up and tucks it into his palm. “Where’s downstairs?”

“Over there.” James points at a little door tucked into a dim corner of the bar. “Let me go tell Wanda something and I’ll be right there. Light’s on the left side, top of the stairs. Unlock the door behind you.”

Clint looks across the bar at the other bartender, a red-haired girl with heavy eyeliner, artfully ripped jeans, and a ridiculous amount of rings on her hands. “She gonna be okay without help?”

“She’ll manage,” James says. “Two minutes. Go.”

Clint goes. Probably too fast to look dignified, but he doesn’t really care. He stumbles over to the back door and slides the key in. For a heart-stopping moment, it doesn’t work, but then he jiggles it a little, and the door opens with a creak. Clint fumbles around on the wall for the light. It doesn’t do much when it’s flicked on, creating more shadows than it really dispels. He unlocks the door and moves down the wooden steps, not trusting the way they ominously groan under his weight.

The basement itself is a little chilly, full of shiny metal shelves and the scent of dust and wooden kegs. It’s an intimate space, really more of a back room than a full basement. Clint’s mouth is already watering at the thought of him and James alone down here. He wonders if they really do have to be quiet, or if the bar noise will be enough to cover any—

The door opens, and James steps down the stairs with more grace than Clint had a moment ago. He stops on the bottom one and leans on the railing, observing Clint with a lazy smile,. “Hey,” he finally drawls, voice thick with a Brooklyn accent. “What’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?”

“Oh god,” Clint says, rolling his eyes. “That’s the line we’re going with? Seriously?”

James laughs and steps to the gritty concrete floor. “Just trying to break the ice,” he says, sauntering forward. “In case you were nervous or something.”

“I wasn’t. Should I be?”

James crashes into him like a tidal wave, slotting their mouths together with an intensity that pushes Clint backwards into the metal shelf behind him. “Definitely,” he breathes, sliding his hands down to Clint’s waist. “Very, _very_ nervous.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Clint pants, “Just curious, what were you gonna do if I said option one?”

“No fucking clue,” James pants back before claiming his mouth in the filthiest kiss Clint’s ever had the pleasure of being involved in. One of his hands slides into Clint’s hair, pulling hard, and the other slides down the front of his jeans, slipping into his boxers to wrap around his already-hard cock. “Probably drag you down here anyway.”

“Yeah?” Clint slips a little and James props him up, grinning against Clint’s mouth. “That—that so?”

“Definitely.” He dips his head, kisses down Clint’s neck with bruising intensity. “Every damn time you walk in here, I swear to God—”

There’s more, after that, but Clint can’t focus with the way James’s hand is moving over him, pulling whimpers and muttered curses from his lips with ease. “James,” he finally gasps out, hands fumbling down to his pants. “James, help me get—get this—c’mon—”

“Oh sweetheart,” James says, his voice practically dripping sex. He pushes Clint’s hands away, slowly popping the button and lowering the zipper himself. “You think it’s gonna be that easy?”

“Was kinda hoping,” Clint mutters, his hands going backwards to grip at the shelf behind him. He wraps his fingers around the metal, uncaring of how the sharp edge of it digs into his palms. “How much time do we have?”

“Fifteen minutes.” James slides his hand under Clint’s shirt and thumbs over a nipple. “Gonna use _every_ second of it.”

“Should I start a timer, or—” He cuts off as James shoves his pants down, baring his skin to the damp air of the little basement. “Ohhhkay.”

James smirks and pushes Clint’s shirt up. “Take this off.”

Clint practically tears it over his head, then puts his hands back on the shelf. James steps back for a moment, tattooed arms crossed over his chest, and takes in the view.

Clint feels a little ridiculous, to be perfectly honest. His shirt is dangling from one hand, his pants and underwear are pooled around his ankles, he’s still got his socks and shoes on, and he’s naked in a basement with a guy that he _really_ doesn’t know that well. But _Christ_ , the way James is looking at him...

“Fucking perfect,” James finally says, and raises his eyebrow at the little whimper Clint makes in response. “Oh, you like that? Being called nice things?”

“Apparently,” Clint manages. He wouldn’t have thought so, but his brain is going _ding ding ding we have a winner,_ and it’s about all he can do to stay upright.

“Good to know,” James says, his voice low again. He moves back into Clint’s space, pressing him against the metal shelf. Clint’s the taller of the two, but James exudes so much raw presence that it doesn’t really seem to matter. He runs his hands over Clint’s shoulders, muttering something that vaguely sounds like “your fucking _arms_ ” before dragging him down into another kiss.

_Ask later_ , Clint thinks, kissing him back. They get wrapped up in it, lost in the heat of the moment. Clint pries his hands off the shelf to wind one in James’s hair, drops the other hand low and grabs a handful of his ass. James chuckles against his mouth, uses his own grip to turn Clint’s head to the side. “On your knees for me,” he murmurs, lips barely brushing Clint’s ear, and Clint doesn’t so much as kneel as he does collapse at the words.

He steadies himself against James’s thighs and looks up, flushing a little at the amused look he gets in return. “Someone’s eager,” James says, and he reaches for his belt. “You look real good down there, sweetheart.”

More lights in his brain, more chills down his spine. Clint can’t fucking think straight anymore, not with the gentle way James’s hand is curving around his jaw. “Please,” he says quietly, but he has no idea what to follow it up with.

“I got you,” James says, just as quiet, and he slides his thumb into Clint’s mouth. Clint sucks at it, eyes on James’s face. “This what you want? You wanna be good for me?” Clint nods, and James pulls his thumb out. He undoes his jeans, lowering them just enough to free himself, giving his cock a few strokes before putting his hand back into Clint’s hair. “Go on then,” he says, and Clint doesn’t need to be told twice.

He leans forward, sucking James into his mouth with unbridled enthusiasm, reveling in the punched-out moan that James makes as his hips thrust forward. “Fuck,” James breathes, looking down at him. “That’s it, babe, that’s perfect, you’re perfect...” He trails off, words turning to mumbles as Clint takes him deep again, turning out every trick that he knows. And he knows a lot of them, really. He could probably write a thesis on sucking dick at this point. He’s gotten to his knees for more guys than he can count, but this—

This is the _best_. This is the best it’s ever been, and the hottest; Clint is going to die right here on his knees and he doesn’t fucking care as long as James keeps making those _sounds_. He grins up at James, pulling off to drag his tongue over his balls, then back up the hard line of his dick. James mutters something incomprehensible and tightens his fingers in Clint’s hair. “You’re so gorgeous,” he says, and Clint moans around him. “Touch yourself, sweetheart, I wanna see it.”

Clint doesn’t need telling twice for that either, dropping one of his hands to wrap around his own aching cock. He moans again, a low, filthy noise that sounds ripped straight out of a porno.

“Yeah?” James asks, sounding breathless and wrecked. “That feel good? That what you needed?”

“So good,” Clint gasps, trying to move his hand in time to James’s movements. There’s too much going on, too many sounds and sensations filling the little room. The wet slide of James over his tongue, and the feel of his own hand against himself, and the obscene moans spilling from both of them, and it’s _so much—_

“Not yet,” James says with quiet command, and Clint immediately stops, letting his hand fall to the side. “Need you focused. Think you can wait until I’m done?”

“Who says you get to go first,” Clint mutters, sucking just under the head, smirking a little as it makes James jolt forward and curse softly.

“I do,” James says once he’s got his breath back. “Look at us, sweetheart, you really think you’re in charge here?”

_Ding ding ding_ goes his brain again, and Clint has absolutely no response to that other than a shudder and a head shake, and James offers him a dirty smile. “Didn’t think so,” he says. “Get me off, and then you can come whenever you want.”

“Kay,” Clint says, and doubles down on his efforts. He loves this, loves every sinful second of it. Loves the way James tastes on his tongue, and the weight of him in his mouth, and the way James’s self-control is eroding faster with every second. Loves every gasp and moan and muttered curse that falls from those lips. Loves being told what to do, and being told that he’s good, that he’s _perfect_ —

“Gonna come,” James gasps, and that’s all the warning Clint gets. He takes James as deep as he can, until he’s practically choking on him. There’s a little hitched breath above him, and a tightening of his fingers, and then James is coming in spurts down the back of his throat with a low, “Goddamn baby, that’s so good, you’re so fucking good...”

Clint takes him through it, pulling off with a wet pop as James lets out a ragged groan. He’s leaning against the metal bookshelf, forehead braced on one arm as he looks down. Clint meets his gaze, unable to keep the self-satisfied look off his face.

James lets out a shaky breath. “So fucking good,” he says again, reaching down. He collects a stray drop of come, then slides it into Clint’s mouth. “All of it, there you go.”

Clint gently cleans his thumb off, then sits back on his heels. “I want,” he starts, then loses his train of thought at the smoldering look in James’s eyes. 

“You want,” James echoes. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

Clint gathers the remnants of his brain and forces it into coherency. “Please let me,” he says, reaching for his own cock, aching and neglected and heavy between his legs. “I need it, James, _please_.”

“Go ahead,” James says. “Keep those pretty eyes up here, though. I want to watch you.”

Clint immediately goes for it, hand sliding over his cock with absolutely no finesse. There’s no teasing, no working himself up. He’s already close as it is, and keeping his eyes on James isn’t helping the situation at all. “God,” he moans, tipping his head back. “James.”

“Right here,” James murmurs. “Watching the show. You look amazing, sweetheart, sayin’ my name like that. Do it again.”

“James.” Clint makes it a little louder, a little breathier, and watches the way James’s eyes darken with lust. “James, fuck, I’m—”

“Yeah you are,” James says roughly, and Clint bites back a yell as he spills into his hand, working himself through it until he’s too sensitive to touch anymore. Then, eyes still on James, he raises his hand to his mouth and licks it clean, dragging his tongue over his palm as slowly as he can.

James makes some incomprehensible noise and reaches down, yanking Clint to his feet before trapping him in a hot, open-mouthed kiss. “Fucking gorgeous,” he declares.

“Me or the show?”

“Both.” James bites at his lower lip, gently tugging on it before letting go and stepping back. He smirks as Clint lets out a little whimper. “Sorry, sweetheart. But that’s our fifteen minutes.”

“Aw, fuck.” Clint reaches for his pants. It takes him three tries to get them zipped up. “That, uh...”

“That was a preview,” James says as he tucks himself back into his pants. “If you’re interested in the full experience, I’m off at ten.”

Clint pulls his shirt back over his head, then makes a half-hearted attempt to fix his hair. It probably doesn’t help. “Yeah? What does the full experience entail?”

“Anything you want,” James says. “As long as it includes you being naked in my bed.”

Clint grins at him. “I could probably manage that.” He swallows, grins again as it draws James’s attention to his throat. “Might need you to give some directions, though.”

“I can definitely manage that,” James murmurs, pressing a kiss right to the hollow of his throat as his hands settle on Clint’s waist. “You look so good when you’re listening to me.”

Clint melts a little against him, his knees going weak at the words. _Hello, praise kink_ , he thinks, and hides his smile in James’s shoulder. _Always fun to learn new things about yourself, isn’t it?_

Above them, the door opens and the bar chatter spills in, breaking the relative silence of the basement. It’s further shattered by a few stomping footsteps, and then an irate, “Barnes!”

James snickers. “Yeah, Wanda, I’ll be right up,” he calls.

“Hurry the fuck up,” she snaps. “And bring some more pint glasses up, some jackasses up here broke a whole row of them.” The footsteps stomp away, but the door stays open. Reality, calling back to them with a quiet insistence. 

“You should go,” Clint says, brushing his lips against James’s jaw.

“I should.”

Neither of them move.

Finally, Clint pats his back. “Go,” he says. “Help your friend. I’ll wait for you.”

“Yeah.” James looks up the stairs. “Okay. Fine.” He tugs Clint’s arm. “Come on. We’re gonna park your ass at the bar so I’ve got something nice to look at while I finish my shift.”

Clint laughs. “Make me one of those drinks again, and I promise I won’t move an inch.”

“Deal,” James says. He presses one more kiss against Clint’s mouth—a little slower, a little sweeter. Then he hefts a box from the floor, nods towards the door, and together, they head up the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)


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